This Seat Taken?
by The Incredible Nameless Wonder
Summary: Butch knows his little nosebleed wouldn't hurt a bloatfly if she knew it had feelings. Still, the saloon owner's dead, and Butch is in the same place he was before she pulled the trigger. Slight F!LW/Butch


_**This Seat Taken?**_

Butch expected that the first time he'd have a gun pressed to his head would be when he and Wally Mack would finally get their hands on a pistol long enough to play Russian roulette. That didn't happen, and he's entirely unused to the sensation as he looks to the pistol's holder with wide eyes.

She doesn't say a word, Butch doubts she can with how tight her jaw is clenched.

"Hey, hey, smoothskin." Her eyes dart across the bar to the ghoul, who's raised his hands like he's the one in danger of being shot. "Put the gun down." She smirks. She fucking _smirks_ and shakes her head.

"Can't do that, Gob." She replies with that pissed-off tone just shy of cocky. "Kid's gotta learn to respect his elders." The ghoul rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. She doesn't lower her arm and Butch can't help but feel a little afraid to move.

"He's not the first asshole to call me a zombie, and he sure as hell won't be the last." This makes her look at Butch with something other than steely indifference. He can't place it for a couple of seconds, but then it dawns on him; she's disappointed.

"Yeah, but at least there'll be one less guy to do it." Her finger pulls down on the safety, and Butch is moving away before he knows what he's doing. Tripping over bar stools, he doesn't get far before hitting a wall.

"You can't shoot me!" Is the first thing out of his mouth. She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly to the side.

"You're in a really great position to be telling me what I can and can't do, Deloria." Her finger moves from the safety to the trigger, and Butch looks to the freak of nature behind the counter.

"What the hell do you want me to do, nosebleed?" The look on her face changes to disbelief and he wonders if calling your potential murderer names is a good idea.

Again, she doesn't say a damn word. It's he who finally decides to bury the hattchet.

"Hey, _I'm sorry_." Butch says it to the ghoul, who just rolls his eyes again.

"Yeah, whatever. That good enough for you, drunkie?" It takes a second for Butch to realize he's talking to the crazy bitch who's yet to holster her pistol yet.

"Not even remotely." She says, but lowers her arm anyway. "Watch out, Butchie, or I'll send you back to 101 in a tin can." Once her back is to him, he gets as far away as he can, going to sit near some Megtaon losers in the corner.

"How's the self-employment life treating you, Gob?" Butch hears her ask the bartender like he's her best friend. He has to wonder if the ghoul is. He slouches a bit in his chair and he hears her order a Nuka Cola of all fuckin' things.

"Shit, man." His attention turns to the settlers, who're pretending not to look at him. "I thought for sure she was gonna shoot him." Butch thinks they've gotta be kidding.

"Yeah, maybe Moriarty was a one-time thing." That piques Butch's interest, and before he can stop himself, he's asking;

"Who's Moriarty?" The two guys look at him like he's blind or nuts or something.

"Used to own the place." One of them pipes up.

"Yeah, at least 'till she came in one afternoon and put a bullet in his skull." Butch doesn't buy that load of shit, and he says so.

There isn't a chance in hell that _his _annoying fuckin' nosebleed could've shot a guy point-blank. She who used to get all weepy after putting down a radroach with her dumb BB gun.

He's not stupid though, he knows the Wasteland can change a person, but he didn't buy it could screw her up _that _much.

"It's all true, I was sittin' right here." The other guys says, crossing one leg over his knee.

"Good riddance, I say. The guy was a prick." If little miss one-oh-one shot a baddie in the head, that would make a lot more sense, but Butch still can't wrap his head around her being able to pull the trigger.

Raiders are different. They're usually too hopped up on jet and foaming at the mouth to really be called human. She kills 'em quick, and barely bats an eyelash.

"She doesn't have the guts." He says, giving her a quick once-over. She's leaning across the bar, _beaming _at that ugly fucker in a way she never looks at anyone else, least of all him.

For a split second, in between a laugh and a sip of her drink, she looks back. Butch's gaze drops instantly, and so does his stomach.

Back in the Vault, he would've hospitalized anyone who looked at him like that, but he decides against starting another fight.

He knows she doesn't have it in her, but for that split second, he could've sworn she did.


End file.
